Indenuel walked on stiff legs toward the door. He opened it to see Pablo and Tolomon talking among themselves. Tolomon stopped talking, studying Indenuel’s face with concern as Pablo bowed.
“Sir, there are some guards in your study. There is some troubling news.”
“The children? Are they alright?” Indenuel asked, his voice light. There was a ringing in his ear he couldn’t get rid of.
“Eating breakfast, sir,” Pablo said. “The High Elders and the King and Queen are on their way for an emergency meeting with you.”
They know. Everyone knows. They’re coming to arrest me. Indenuel’s panic spiked before he pushed it down. Think. Give yourself a moment to think before you answer. “What are they… I don’t…”
“All will be clear once you hear the news,” Pablo said.
Indenuel nodded, stuffing his hands deep in his pockets as he walked on unsteady steps toward his study.
“Are you alright?” Tolomon asked.
“Bad dream,” Indenuel said as a lock of hair fell in front of his eyes. He didn’t dare push it back. He didn’t want to bring attention to his gloves unless he had to.
The uncertainty was unnerving. He knew why the guards were there. He had an inkling as to the news, but whether he was a suspect was a different matter entirely. There was still a lot of incriminating evidence in his room, but he walked away from it, praying to a dead God the servants wouldn’t ask questions.
Tolomon and Pablo said nothing as they walked with him. Indenuel tried to shake off the grogginess.
“You look awful,” Tolomon whispered. “Was the dream really that bad?”
Indenuel said nothing, barely looking at his bodyguard as Pablo opened the door to the study. The two guards there bowed, and he bowed back before walking around and sitting at his desk. Pablo closed the door and Tolomon remained against the wall beside the desk. Indenuel tried to shake the feeling of being trapped. He wanted to rub his neck, rub his eyes, anything, but he clasped his gloved hands in front of him. “Gentlemen, take a seat, please.” He had to act the part of the Warrior right now. The Warrior was about to receive some bad news, whatever that news may be.
“Thank you, sir,” one of the guards said.
“Has my staff offered you some sort of refreshment?”
“Oh, they have, and we politely declined,” the other guard said.
“I’ve been told you have some unsettling news?” Indenuel asked.
“Yes, sir. I am terribly sorry, but your guests, Andres and Lola were found murdered early this morning,” the guard said.
Indenuel winced. He hadn’t asked about Andres and Lola to Pablo and Tolomon. He just immediately asked about the children. He should have been concerned about them, too. He didn’t even ask if they had returned home safely. Would they suspect?
Indenuel let out a shaky breath. “Murdered?”
“Yes, sir.”
He let the pretense go. He let the tears fall. He let himself look like the mess he felt, because that’s what they expected. He bowed his head, his shoulders trembling as he let out a sob. He finally raised a gloved hand to catch some tears. With their words it was final. Andres and Lola were murdered. He let his anger get control, and no one stopped him. He killed them. But he realized something, sitting in the chair behind the desk, taking a handkerchief from one of the guards. He wasn’t crying because he felt bad about murdering them. He cried because of how difficult this would all be to cover up.
“We can’t tell when. No one was outside in that storm last night, and therefore no one has any clue what happened. Our best bet is it must have been some Kiamese soldiers. They must have caused the storm,” one of the guards said.
Indenuel dropped his gloved hands again, nodding, the tears a constant stream, the nerves playing across his face.
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“We’ve been doing some digging. Many of the witnesses say those two were open with the knowledge that they knew you,” the guard said.
“Kiam must have tracked them down to send you a message.”
He kept nodding, the tears not stopping. His hands trembled, but he didn’t dare wipe the tears away for fear of them asking about his gloved hands. Another shaky breath escaped him, and he tried not to let it sound like a breath of relief. The guards had a damn good lead. All he needed to do was keep silent.
Indenuel continued to stare at the desk, let the emotion come out of him through his tears.
“Do you need anything else from us, sir?” the guard asked.
Indenuel looked at his desk. “No. Thank you for keeping us safe.”
The guards stood up and bowed before leaving the study. Pablo left with them, which meant it was him and Tolomon left. Indenuel wondered if he could somehow excuse his bodyguard too. More than anything, he needed to be alone.
Tolomon sat in one of the chairs the guards were in. “Do you need me to get you any breakfast?”
Indenuel shook his head, looking at his gloved hands instead of at him. There was silence, except for the movements Tolomon made as he tried over and over to say something but lost his nerve right before he said it. Indenuel tried to calm himself down. Tried not to think of the thousands of things that were certainly condemning him right at this moment. He had murdered two people last night. As much as he tried, he couldn’t go back to the way things were. A part of him died last night too, and now he was desperately trying to pick up the pieces before the rest of the world judged him for his broken nature.
“Alright, I admit, I’m not great at giving anything that would come close to comfort,” Tolomon started to say. Indenuel said nothing, not daring to speak. To speak would give himself over to the possibility of being condemned. It was so much easier when no one cared who he was. “I got the sense you three weren’t exactly close, but this must be harrowing all the same. So, I… I’m sure they are resting easy now in the peace of God.”
He continued to stare at his gloved hands before he slowly looked up and met Tolomon’s gaze. He had to tell the closest he could to the truth, and this was one of those times. “They’re not.”
Tolomon looked concerned. “Pardon?”
“My nightmare last night,” Indenuel said. “They’re not resting with the good spirits. They’re…” he swallowed, then looked back at his gloved hands, almost feeling the icy chill of the mark on his chest. “They were dragged to Hell.”
Tolomon’s eyes widened, his jaw slack. It would have to be enough. An unmarked person would have seen a dream like that too and considering Indenuel was the only speaker of the dead that Andres and Lola knew, they would have come to him if he had died. It would make sense. No one would know. Tolomon could never learn the truth. Indenuel somehow had to hide all this from him, a man who would never leave his side. A man who only left his side last night because days before he was filled with deadly smoke that should have killed him. And Indenuel saved him with power he no longer possessed.
Pablo opened the door. “Sir, High Elder Martin and High Elder Navir have arrived.”
Indenuel nodded, trying to stand.
“No, no my dear boy, stay seated. I’m certain you’ve had quite the shock,” Martin said as he walked with purpose into the room.
Indenuel didn’t argue. He remained seated, forcing himself not to cry. He had another part to play. The initial release of his emotions was cathartic. The guards for now were fooled, but now he needed to fool the High Elders and the King and Queen. The only people who could reasonably place accusations against him.
“Would you like some wine?” Tolomon asked.
Indenuel waited for Martin and Navir to answer, but as the silence stretched on, he realized Tolomon was looking straight at him. He nodded before burrowing into himself again. The gloves itched against the cuts. The material was dark enough that no one noticed the blood leaking onto it. He’d have to change gloves soon. He should have put bandages on underneath all this. He simply wasn’t thinking straight.
Tolomon returned with the glass of wine. He was a good man. He didn’t judge Indenuel as he took the glass with dangerously trembling hands. Did not say a word as Indenuel downed the entire glass. Did not judge him as he handed the empty glass back with equally trembling hands. But he should have.
Indenuel’s mind was numb. Dangerously so. It was like trying to think when he just wanted to collapse in a ball and process what was going on. He closed his eyes as Fadrique entered. Martin, Navir, and Fadrique talked quietly amongst themselves as Indenuel folded his arms, tucking his gloves away to the inside of his jacket. He brought his legs up to the chair, placing his forehead against his knees, and tried to look like a pathetic individual who wouldn’t murder two grown adults if given the chance.
He forced himself to only think about what he could do. There was little he could do about the three High Elders already in his study. The three High Elders who could probe him for corruption at any moment. The King and Queen arrived, which meant they needed to wait for Dalius and Cristoval. Cristoval, the old man who could sense demons.
Indenuel squeezed his eyes shut, taking deep, steadying breaths. He could do this. They all held him in such high regard they wouldn’t question him. He would agree to this lead. He had to do everything he could to make sure a group of Kiamese soldiers were found and punished for their crimes. Once this group was found, then the matter would be put to rest. Andres and Lola would rot in Hell, never being allowed to visit anyone alive ever again. He would mediate every morning and evening for as long as possible to get the mark off his chest, and he would do his best to bring his powers back to where they were supposed to be. He could do this. As long as he survived this first few days. The initial investigation. He could do it.
He had to do it.